Kendra hardly slept at all that night. Falling in and out of consciousness, her insides twisted with nervous anticipation, and liquid dreams brought her in and out of imagined crevices within the dark surroundings—a place of distant birds calling to one another, of small animal feet crackling twigs underfoot, of Top Fire only knows what else. No one ever spoke of what existed in the Surrounding of the Home.

Washington is chock-full of sociopaths, thieves, and drunks—and certainly mutant combinations of all three. But you probably wouldn’t know it by the looks of the well-dressed, old men, chatting and smiling in Statuary Hall just hours after the Inauguration. The Joint Congressional Committee on Inaugural Ceremonies has hosted the post-inauguration luncheon for more than a century, and by the general jolly ambiance of the crowd here at noon on a Tuesday, you’d think at the very worst you were at some two-faced, slightly twisted Bradbury-manifested carnival in rural Illinois. The truth of the matter is that most of Washington is so far removed from the common folk, they’ve forgotten what it’s like to bleed. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not an anti-statesman—not officially anyway. I love this country and consider myself a true, blue-blood patriot. But when the nation is led into a war for no good damn reason that actually exists, and when bank reps hustle people into signing loans worth less than the ink of their signatures, and when some schmuck in New York with ties to the highest levels of the SEC steals 50 billion and no one bats an eye for ten years, I start to wonder about the fortitude of our free world. Perhaps that’s why I’ve bought into the crude national conception that our new Head of the Union can bring some “change” to the Capitol. It’s a long shot, but a real and decent American hope… Or maybe I’m fooling myself into some new national pipe dream after a long and wretched double-term fuck up. God knows anything seems better than the last eight years. I figured the only way to find out was to get a private moment with the newly elected president, maybe shake his and ask him a question or two, and see what sort of energy I get in person, what his eyes tell me, what his three-piece, million-dollar smile has to say up close.

I imagine Joan of Arc heard the same echo of horses
stallions galloping right up to her renaissance ear
flies abuzz with memories such as
an unwanted cock in the mouth or the ass, it’s all the same

Swagger is a preteen girl
claiming street with every step;
legs long enough to
bring out the pedophile
in any hetero man with eyes.

1.
Canalino Elementary is two blocks
From Carpinteria beach.
Southern California Pacific
Is my learned English.